


Gift-wrapped for the public with a pretty satin bow

by ElianB



Series: Elian's star trek fics [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: And completely unrelated to the previous tags:, Hurt/Comfort, I'm going to be updating these tags as they become relevent, Mental Instability, Minor James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Minor James T. Kirk/Spock, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sporadic Touch Aversion, The trauma in this fic is not romanticized or fetishized, There are hints of it and I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet, Trans James T. Kirk, Trauma, minor self-harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22363594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElianB/pseuds/ElianB
Summary: Kirk's body belongs to the mission. Unfortunately, you can only divest yourself of control or have it wrested from you so many times before it starts to wear you down.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Spock
Series: Elian's star trek fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866355
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter has references to season 2's "A Private Little War" and "Return to Tomorrow." I'm going to throw quick summaries of what you need to know in the end notes because you need context and I don't want to just not offer any.
> 
> Other than that. Honestly? I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I have some vague plans, but this is the least thought out one of my fics has ever been. I just know that Jim using his body and being used low-key triggers my own bodily-autonomy issues and after "Return to Tomorrow" I just couldn't take it anymore and had to address this issue.
> 
> So. Hope you enjoy! And hopefully I'll have where I'm going with this sorted out soon.

The problem technically started a week before it _really_ started, not that Jim had understood that at the time or for a while afterwards. It was the first crack from the weight of a pressure that Jim hadn’t even realized had been building up in the first place.

Jim was feeling a bit bruised as after leaving Neural, having left with not only no resolution for the tensions between the Hill people and the Villagers, but rather an increase in those tensions and the spread of weapons that he feared would irreversibly demolish the peace that the planet had once known.

Defeat resting heavy on his conscience, he retired earlier than usual, excusing himself from Sulu’s invitation to the rec room on the basis of paperwork. Bones asked to join him, needing to fill out his own report on the events, and Jim smiled at him, tiredly, accepting the offered company.

They retired to Jim’s room, Bones slipping away momentarily to grab a bottle of bourbon from his own room, and settled across from each other at Jim’s desk, the bottle between them and each with a filled glass.

As they worked, there was a long period of comfortable silence, save McCoy’s soft muttering. Jim found himself easily slipping into work-mode, despite the strain of the evening, his explanations and defense of his actions taking on a sense of academic detachment, enough that he could write about it without getting too weighed down by a sense of self-blame.

He took a sip of his bourbon, finishing off the last of it, and, peering at the glass, figured that was probably helping too.

It was as he was reaching for the bottle to pour himself another glass that McCoy asked, “So. How’re you holding up?”

Jim hummed, unscrewing the bottle’s top and filling his glass as he considered Bones’s question.

How was he holding up.

He’d gotten Spock shot, nevermind that he’d made a full recovery, and been put into a position where he’d felt he had no choice but to supply a previously non-violent group of people with guns so they could fight with and kill another previously non-violent group of people who’d been corrupted by Klingon malevolence.

How was he holding up…

He screwed the top back on the bourbon and pushed the bottle back between them, taking another, long sip.

“Jim…” Bones’s rough voice was gentle. His pad was set aside, his own much simpler report likely already finished. His glass was still half full, the light hitting it causing a honey yellow shine. His hands were resting on the desk, palms down, fingers of one hand curled slightly,

Jim pulled his mouth into a smile, setting his glass down with a dull clink. “Oh, I’m fine Bones. Just more of the same.” He traced his finger along the rim of the cup, nodding slowly. “More of the same.”

“The same isn’t always a good thing. S’why we have shore leave. Have to break up the routine madness somehow.”

Jim chuckled softly and raised his glass. “To breaking up the routine madness.”

Bones’s blue eyes were watching him intently as he clinked their glasses together, refraining from taking a drink, though Jim did. “If that’s the energy we’re celebrating, how’s about turning in for the night, Jim.”

Jim shook his head as he swallowed. “Can’t,” he said gesturing towards the pad sitting in front of him. “I’m almost finished.”

Bones’s grabbed the pad, pulling it towards himself. “It’s late. If you’re almost finished, it’s something you should be able to finish in the morning.”

“Nonsense, I can finish it now.” Jim held out his hand for the pad. His second glass of bourbon was already halfway empty.

It was the glass Bones was staring at when he stood, taking Jim’s pad and walking over to set it on his dresser, near the door.

“Bones, really, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Maybe so, Jim, but I think this might be better for you to handle in the morning. After you’ve had some time to… process.” He walked back to Jim’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Jim stared up at him, more gauging his seriousness than challenging him. Bones stared right back, his eyes holding all of his fondness and worry and his hand a steady weight, Jim feeling every twitch of his fingers.

Finally, Jim relented with a nod and an, “Alright, alright. If it’ll put you at ease, I’ll finish up the rest tomorrow.”

“Good.” Bones gave him a small smile and a friendly jostle. “There’s nothing wrong with taking care of your _self_ before your _work_ sometimes.”

“I take it that that’s your professional opinion?”

Bones’s hand left Jim’s shoulder and he scratched the back of his neck. “Professional opinion, friendly advice… Whichever you need it to be right now, Jim. Either way, I’m not wrong.”

“Thank you.” Jim reached out, hooking a finger in one of Bones’s belt loops, tugging him just the slightest bit closer. “I appreciate the concern.”

When Bones spoke, his voice was quiet. “Of course.”

Bones left not long after that, Jim seeing him to the door.

Left to his own devices, Jim considered finishing up his report, anyway, but Bones had been right when he’d said it was getting late and, without the distraction of another person’s presence, Jim was more aware of how tired he was now than he’d been before.

Deciding to be a good patient for once, Jim grabbed a pair of pajamas and headed for his bathroom.

He pulled his shirt off and pressed on a compartment in the wall, the compartment opening outwards to reveal the basket that was hidden there. As he dropped his shirt into the basket, he paused, his gaze catching on a faint cut on his arm.

He touched it, pressing at the faint, pink skin, slightly sore to the touch, but nothing serious.

In an instant, as he dragged his fingers across the cut, it was not his own touch, but Nona’s, pressing, rubbing – a prelude to the dizzy haze that had taken over him afterwards.

A shudder wracked Jim’s body and his hand flew to his mouth, covering it against a near gag. His other hand gripped the door to the dirty clothes compartment tightly, the edges of it digging into the flesh of his palm.

He recalled hands and lips and his own desperation. The whole event was fuzzy and distorted, the only clear sensation being the memory of Nona’s lips pressed to his own, her mouth wet and hot and-

Jim shuddered again, violently, his body pitching forward, curling up. He let himself drop into a squatting position, pressed his forehead up against the compartment door, kept his hand pressed firmly over his mouth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

He breathed slowly and deeply, forcing his mind to go blank, and stayed there, still as a statue until long after he’d calmed and his knees had begun to ache.

When he finally rose, it was with glacial movements, as if he was afraid that moving too fast would set the episode back into motion.

He stood, staring vacantly into the basket he’d dropped his clothes into, wondering why on _Earth_ he’d just had such a reaction. No answers immediately presented themselves, and he cautiously took a step away from the compartment, continuing his nighttime routine with a strained deliberation.

He brushed his teeth three times over before he was satisfied that night.

The following week consisted of the usual utter chaos and Jim essentially forgot about the episode, his attentions ever focused on the present and future. With it placed firmly out of his mind, it never even occurred to him that the episode could be at all related to the dreams once they started.

Not even the first dream, though, in retrospect, it happened so soon after evening of his episode he was foolish to have forgotten, to have not considered or wondered or begun to piece the puzzle together.

But things did have a tendency to seem obvious long after the situation had passed – when you’d have distance and space and the moment of revelation on your side.

~ ~ ~

When Jim woke, with a startled gasp, his eyes were wet. He lay for a few moments, the dark of his room leaving him blind, feeling baffled as the pounding of his heart slowed and he disentangled himself from his dream. When he felt a bit more present, he groaned softly, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, unshed tears wetting his palms, then let out a burst of air in what may or may not have constituted a sigh.

His first tangible, drowsy thought was that he hadn’t woken up crying in _years_.

Whatever dream had set him off had slipped away fast, the only part of it sticking with him through waking up being his dream-self’s breakdown of desperate, violent sobbing. It was entirely unlike him, but, despite that, the memory of it still left him with a pit in his stomach and vague sense of feeling off.

Dragging his hands down his face, he muttered, “Lights, 20%,” and, after his room was awash in a green glow, he pushed himself upright.

The clock to his right indicated that it was before 5:00a.m. Earth Standard Time, but his eyes felt heavy and his head ached, so instead of laying back down, he got up and shuffled towards the bathroom, grunting when, in his tired haze, his hip slammed into the divider between his bedroom and office. He cursed, rubbing at the area, and muttered about stupid counter edges and even stupider wide hips the rest of his short walk to his bathroom.

As he splashed his face with cold water, massaging his eyes, then popped a few pain pills, he decided to chalk his odd dream and the bout of sleep-crying up to a one-time abnormality, nothing more than an overdue release of stress and definitely not worth bringing up to any of the medical or mental health professionals onboard, the rather aggressive lecture Bones had given him about taking his physical and psychological well-being seriously be damned.

If it got worse, he’d deal with it, but until then it just didn’t seem worth making a fuss about.

He closed the cap on the pill bottle, putting it back in the medicine cabinet, and left the bathroom feeling wide awake and much more grounded, the remnants of his dream having loosened their hold on him.

Pausing in his office, he eyed what was visible of his bed past the divider, then approached slowly to lean on the counter. He considered attempting to go to bed, but…

He tilted his head.

His bed loomed at him, stiff and empty and, frankly, unwelcoming in the dull green light, heavy with shadows. It unsettled him, sparked an echo of that off feeling, like a warning that if he were to return to sleep only nightmares would await him.

He pressed his lips together for a moment, then pushed off of the counter, commanding the lights to turn up a bit more, the green shifting to a cheery pink, and walked over to his small selection of books, grabbing one and settling down on his desk chair.

As he leaned back, getting as comfortable as he could, and flipped through the book, looking for the page he’d left off on, he told himself that he wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep now anyway, awake as he was, even if he’d tried.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t quite true. Jim must have dozed off at some point because he was jolted from a light, restless sleep by his alarm. His book had fallen to the floor, he had a kink in his neck that he could already tell was going to drive him crazy all morning, and he felt distinctly _less_ rested than he had earlier.

The only bright side was that he hadn’t had any more dreams.

He got up, commanding the alarm to turn off, and bent to grab his book, inhaling sharply when his back cracked as he straightened. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing a hand to his lower back, and took a few stiff steps towards his selection of books, dropping off the one he was holding and just standing there for a minute or so, wondering if this morning should be taken as an indication of how the rest of his day would be going.

“Okay, Jim,” he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath and forcing his sore, tired eyes open. “You can deal with a little exhaustion and discomfort. It’ll be _fine_.” He nodded once to himself and gingerly turned around, hand still pressed to the small of his back, to go take a nice, _hot_ shower and hopefully relax his stiff muscles.

One shower and a debate with himself over whether he should take more medicine or heed the label’s warning about waiting six hours later, Jim was dressed and waiting for his new set of pills to kick in and relieve him of his aches. He’d gotten a quick breakfast from the dining hall and, as he’d left, two cups of coffee, an attempt at keeping himself from dozing on his feet.

He was making his way down the hallway to the bridge, one cup in each hand, when Uhura fell into step beside him.

“Tired this morning, Capitan?” she asked, looking at the cups he was holding curiously. The scent of strong coffee pervaded the air between them. “Or,” she continued, a teasing lilt to the word and a sly look in her eyes as she slid them up to meet his, “have you upset Mr. Spock, by chance, and this is your way of trying to get back into his good graces? Because, if that’s the case, I have to say, I don’t think synthesized coffee is going to do it.”

Jim laughed shortly, shaking his head. “Oh, trust me, I’m aware,” he replied, a wide grin on his face. “No, no, this isn’t a sad attempt to appease Mr. Spock; you were right the first time Lieutenant. These are both for me.” He blew on one of the cups and took a small sip, wincing as the coffee, still much too hot, burned his tongue, then continued, nonchalant, if a bit disgruntled as he lowered the cup, “Didn’t sleep well last night is all.”

“Ah,” Uhura nodded, understanding seeming to come over her at that, “well, that’s certainly expected after yesterday. It must have been odd giving up your body to Sargon. I’m sure I would have had trouble re-adjusting afterwards myself. Not so sure about Mr. Spock, but Dr. Mulhall’s likely feeling the same.” Uhura smiled, kindly, at Jim, placing a reassuring hand on his arm, the light brush of her fingers almost lost to the fabric of his shirt.

Unbidden, Jim froze, then, her assumption pulling him up short. He honestly hadn’t spared the previous day’s events much thought after everything had been wrapped up and his report had been made. He certainly hadn’t thought that it had caused him any excessive amounts of distress, at least none beyond what was typical, none that might disrupt his sleep.

Yet, for some reason, Uhura’s mention of it had brought back flashes of the tail end of it, when he and Sargon had been sharing his body, Jim nothing more than a passenger, really – no control and the feeling of lips pressed against his own, fingers against his skin, in his hair.

Jim could feel himself sweating as he blinked, giving a startled shake of his head, trying to pull himself out of the moment.

It hadn’t bothered him when it’d happened, he remined himself. He’d allowed it, practically… practically _asked_ for it, even, when he’d asked Sargon if there was anything he and his crew could do to help him.

He’d found that final moment between Sargon and his wife just as sweet as the rest of his crew on the bridge.

He _had_ – he _knew_ he had – and yet…

And yet, there was not denying that the memory of it made him feel like ice had been dropped into his stomach.

He wanted to rub at his mouth.

When Jim had stopped moving, Uhura had stopped with him and the longer he stood there, the more her concern seemed to deepen, her eyebrows furrowing and her hand on his arm giving a comforting squeeze.

It was that touch that managed to pull Jim from his reverie, practically making him jump with how much it surprised him. In that instant, he wanted nothing more than to pull away, to establish a good bubble of space between himself and Uhura, to alleviate himself of the drawn, antsy feeling that had crawled under his skin, whispering frantically that he was being constrained, that he needed to run.

Despite the strength of his reaction, Jim didn’t act on it. Instead, he forced himself to relax, to untense, to let it _go_ and let it _happen_.

He didn’t want Uhura to figure out just how unsettled he’d become.

As it was, Uhura was still watching him like he’d turned into a small, frightened animal. Her voice gentle and a bit tentative, she said, “Hopefully whatever strangeness that situation left you with passes quickly.”

In the face of her worry, Jim pasted an easy smile onto his lips. “Yes,” he said, aiming for cheerful, “thank you, Lieutenant Uhura. I appreciate it. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what had been keeping me up last night, but you’re probably right and I’m just a bit out of sorts after yesterday’s chaos. I should be fine, though, just need to get this coffee in me and I’ll be good as new.” He pointedly took another sip from one of his dangerously hot cups, getting burned again, but wincing more openly this time, playing it up just enough to make Uhura laugh.

Her hand slipped from his arm.

He couldn’t help but note that he still felt… unwell.

“Be careful,” Uhura said. “I don’t think either of us wants to have to sic Dr. McCoy on you because you couldn’t wait an few extra minutes to get caffeinated.”

“Can’t say it’d be the first time,” Jim replied, keeping his tone light, then, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “though I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse, actually.”

Uhura laughed, again, and he smiled at her fondly, glad, despite his weird mood, to see her concern replaced by that usual sparkle in her eyes.

Put at ease, she didn’t seem to notice when his smile slipped as they continued on their way to the bridge.

Jim’s skin was tingling where Uhura had been holding him and the only thing stopping him from scratching at it was the fact that his hands were currently occupied.

He took another sip of his coffee, a larger one, just for something to do. It burned his tongue, again, and the roof of his mouth, slightly stinging his throat on its way down. And, for some reason, that actually _did_ manage to calm the anxious feeling that had crawled beneath his skin, just the slightest bit.

Hesitantly – with the strangest, childlike sensation that he was doing something he shouldn’t be doing – Jim took another drink and this time, as his nerves were soothed, he savored the burn.

The rest of the morning passed by relatively uneventfully, save the caffeine high that Jim had willingly subjected himself to. There were no distress signals, no incoming transmissions, and no assignments to read up on since the _Enterprise_ was currently enroute to a Starfleet base for some routine maintenance. With their plotted course, they’d be arriving at the nearest base by the next afternoon.

With little to do, Jim periodically rose from his chair to pace the bridge, pausing at his crewmates’ workstations to peer at what they were doing and strike up conversation. By his fifth circuit, everyone was looking rather amused. His crash came around lunchtime and by the time evening rolled around all he wanted was to lay face-down on his bed.

He managed to force himself into some after-hours socialization in the rec room, sharing a drink with Scotty and Bones, the latter of whom was watching him more closely than Jim was comfortable with. When Jim pushed away from the table and said he’d be turning in early, Bones narrowed his eyes with downright aggressive suspicion.

“You feeling alright, Jim?” Bones asked, looking more than ready to jump on any reason to drag him down to the med bay. Jim figured it had a lot to do with the Sargon incident and especially the whole ‘Jim’s body dying for a little bit there’ part of it.

Jim smiled at Bones, deciding a hasty retreat would be best. “Oh, yes, just little tired out, that’s all,” He said, folding his hands behind his back and beginning to inch away.

“Fatigued, would you say?”

“Well, now, fatigued is kind of a strong word, isn’t it, Bones? I don’t think we need to go around applying words like _fatigued_ to how I’m feeling. Afterall, there’s nothing wrong with a man deciding he wants to go to bed a bit earlier than usual. Right, Scotty?” Jim asked, turning rather abruptly to the man in question.

Scotty, clearly having not expected to be dragged into the discussion, slowly lowered his drink, glancing between Bones’s glare and Jim’s sanguine smile. “Ah,” he started, then cleared his throat. “No, no I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with that, Captain.” He very pointedly did not look in Bones’s direction.

At that, Jim clapped his hands together with a, “Fantastic! _Thank_ _you_ , Scotty. Now, Bones, if you would excuse me, I believe I have a date with my bed.”

Bones, surprisingly, did not end up chasing him down in the hallway, but Jim didn’t fully relax until he’d gotten to the safety of his room.

He threw himself down onto his bed, telling himself, one second, that he’d rest for just a moment and then get up to properly get ready for bed.

It was the last thought he had before he was gasping awake, just like the night before, with tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

He immediately pushed himself up to sit, rubbing at his eyes and squinting against the lights of his room, having never bothered to turn them down or off before passing out.

A glance at his clock showed that it was later in the morning than the last time, definitely too late to bother with trying to sleep, but still earlier than he would have liked.

The dream, on the other hand, was exactly the same as before, though this time around Jim mostly just felt confused and frustrated in its aftermath. He couldn’t keep waking up from… from nightmares.

Did a dream of crying even really count as a nightmare?

Jim shook his head, putting that train of thought aside as unimportant. No, what really mattered was the fact that if this continued it would start to be a problem, at the very least because he was losing sleep. At some point that would start to have an effect on his functionality.

He rose from his bed, turning off his alarm for the morning and heading for his bathroom, debating the hazards of asking Bones for sleeping pills if the problem persisted.

By the time he was pulling on one of his green v-necks, Jim had settled on a compromise, deciding that if these bouts of sleep-crying continued he’d make sure to go to Bones for a professional opinion before the lack of sleep began hindering his ability to think clearly. If the problem petered out on its own, on the other hand, he’d simply count his blessings and take that as a sign that everything was alright.

The decision was partially self-serving avoidance, with Jim fervently hoping the matter would resolve itself and no one would ever have to know about it but him, and partially Jim not wanting to risk causing any kind of disruption while they were at a Starfleet base for business, however informal that business was.

Scotty had already been in a bit of a tizzy about strangers being allowed to fiddle around in _his_ engineering room, stressing to Jim that he wasn’t sure _how_ he’d manage to keep his eyes on everything, but he’d damn well try. The last thing Jim wanted was his CMO to be up in arms too.

Besides, a couple days with a few hours of lost sleep wasn’t exactly a code red emergency.

Satisfied, Jim nodded to himself, flattening his hands over his shirt to make sure it was laying right and, with a last glance in his mirror to ensure that he looked presentable, he left his room, heading for the dining area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In "A Private Little War" Jim is on a planet he's surveyed in the past. He gets injured. His friend's wife heals him, but she's power-hungry (as women in star trek tend to be...) so she drugs him into wanting her, intending to use this as a way to get Jim's weapons because of the tensions between her people and the villagers that are the result of Klingon intervention. She ends up dying and Jim's friend demands he supply them with weapons. In "Return to the Future" Jim, a woman (Mulhall), and Spock willingly give over their bodies to some telepathic aliens. Drama ensues. The end result is the alien possessing Jim's body decides the time for him and his wife has passed and he has a last moment with his wife when Jim and Mulhall give permission for them to use their bodies. The difference that last time is that Jim and Mulhall's consciousness is also still in their bodies, instead of displaced.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nothing gets better, but nothing gets worse either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has gotten bare minimum of editing, don't judge me too harshly. The chapter *exists* now and that's an accomplishment. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, but it exists. As a warning for anyone who doesn’t like ocs in fics, this chapter heavily features one. Partially because I’m a sucker for almost every reunion between Kirk and a past significant other that gets shown in canon and I wanted to write one. But also partially because I’m a lesbian and love to write a beautiful, fun woman. Also!!! You'll notice that this fic has been placed in a collection. The second fic deals with the same situation as this fic, but is intended to take place outside of this fic's canon.
> 
> This chapter references season 1’s Dagger of the Mind. I’ll provide a brief description of what you need to know in the end notes for people unfamiliar with the episode.

By mid-afternoon the _Enterprise_ had arrived at the Starbase for maintenance and was docked.

Jim was standing in the entryway of the ship’s main docking port with Spock and Scotty, the three of them waiting for the airlock doors to open, permitting the base’s Chief Engineer, one Commander Soto, and her yeoman, Moore, entry onto the _Enterprise_. They would be retiring to a conference room prior to Commander Soto bringing the rest of her crew on board in order to run through an obligatory discussion of what the maintenance would entail – obligatory, that is, to everyone but Scotty who was still venting some last minute concerns about who would be touching what, where, and why.

Jim, suffering from the beginnings of a headache from Scotty’s rambling and the harsh lighting of the area, was just about to suggest to him that if he, perhaps, could hold himself back for _five_ _minutes_ he’d have someone in the room perfectly willing and able to answer his questions when the airlock doors hissed open, Scotty cutting himself off abruptly and standing at attention.

Jim shot Spock a bemused look behind Scotty’s head, grateful for the silence, no matter how momentary, Spock returning it with a pointed glance between Scotty, Jim, and the officers that were stepping out of the airlock.

Jim stifled a smile, acknowledging the message that he should probably get on with the usual courtesies before Scotty dove back into his questions with a subtle nod.

He turned his attention towards the Commander and her yeoman-

And froze, feeling for all the world as if his time had stopped with him.

Commander Soto was a slightly taller woman, light brown skin, an easy smile on her lips. Black curls were currently left free to fall in a sumptuous, hectic mass down her back. The sleeves of her uniform shirt were tugged up, hair ties clinging to her wrist, and a vibrant tattoo on her left forearm.

All in all, she was rather beautiful, especially with her high cheekbones and drooping, deep brown eyes – eyes that were looking at _Jim_ rather intently.

What had pulled Jim up short, however, had little to do with her beauty and much more to do with the fact that she looked familiar. Different, certainly - if she was who he thought she was, they’d known each other about 10 years ago and while they were both still relatively early in their transitions - but still _so_ _very_ familiar and undeniably so when Jim realized that he was positive that she had the same last name as the woman she _must_ be.

Rather than satisfying the sudden burning curiosity that had overtaken him, Jim simply gathered himself and nodded to the Commander and her yeoman – a short, slight, young person with pale skin and shaved blond hair – in turn, hoping that his brief moment of hesitation had gone unnoticed.

“Commander Soto,” he greeted her. “Yeoman Moore. It’s nice to have you on board. I’m Captain Kirk and these,” he gestured towards Spock and Scotty, “are my First Officer, Commander Spock, and my Chief Engineer, Commander Scott.”

The more Jim spoke, the more Soto’s smile seemed to grow, something sly and so very pleased about it. She walked up to him, taking a step closer than strictly necessary, bringing with her the abrasive scent of the mechanic’s – a metallic smell, mixed with that of Starship grease – and hints of some underlying perfume, heady and sweet.

Soto held out her hand, watching Jim with those familiar eyes and that private smile and stating, “The pleasure’s all mine.”

Jim could feel her calluses, feel her index finger as it brushed tenderly against the inside of his wrist, feel her hesitation to let go.

He, in turn, wanted to pull her in, hold her, brush his fingers along her jaw.

Instead, he gently retracted his hand from hers, telling himself that if this, against all odds, wasn’t _Mia_ Soto, then the two of them would need to have a rather serious chat about professional boundaries.

Perhaps over dinner on the Starbase.

As Commander Soto stepped back, restoring a socially acceptable amount of distance between them, Jim wondered if she still laughed like she used to.

Clearing his throat – and very aware of Scotty’s eyes flickering between himself and the Commander as well as Spock’s strategic lack of attention – Jim took another step back from her, folding his hands behind him. “Well,” he said, “if you would all follow me, we’ll hopefully have this business wrapped up before dinner!”

Commander Soto stuck close to Jim as they walked the hallways, their arms almost, but not quite, brushing. Despite that, though, her attention was all for the ship and her questions were mostly directed at Scotty, who seemed to be warming up to her the more interest she expressed in what he had to say about the ship and its idiosyncrasies.

Commander Soto was rather quickly proving herself to be nothing like the obstinate man they’d dealt with the last time they’d stopped in at a Starbase for maintenance - she commanded the presence of a professional, but didn’t frame herself as so arrogantly above seeking the counsel of those around her. And while Scotty seemed to appreciate being treated as a collaborator rather than a nuisance, Jim appreciated seeing his people treated with the respect they deserved.

In this manner, it wasn’t long before they reached the conference room. 

The room was simple, the nature of the meeting not requiring anything particularly special. It was relatively small with an ovular table in its center and a large screen on its far wall. Jim supposed the use of soft purples and baby blues in the decor was meant to give the room a calming aura, but the lighting here was just as harsh as it’d been out in the hallway, leaving Jim still firmly stranded on the edge of a headache.

They all got seated and as yeoman Moore passed out datapads containing the necessary information, Commander Soto jumped right into explaining which areas of the ship she and her crew would be examining, what diagnostics they'd be running, and what updates they were considering implementing.

All in all, it was essentially the same spiel Jim had heard before, nothing really eyebrow-raising about anything she was suggesting, though the potential updates were of particular interest to him. And he _would_ have asked questions about them, too, if he felt he could get a word in edgewise.

In a rather pleasantly amusing twist on last years' belligerent arguing between Scotty and the Starbase's Chief Engineer, this year Jim found himself audience to a friendly, though no less impassioned, back and forth between Scotty and Commander Soto, the two of them all but completely wrapped up in each other as they discussed the ship.

It was nearly enough to make Jim feel he'd gone completely invisible, if not for Spock, at his side, leaning over – the scant distance between them shrinking even further – to say, "As... enriching as this conversation has been Captain, I'm beginning to wonder if an interruption is in order." The words were only just loud enough for Jim to hear.

Jim hummed, a faint smile gracing his lips as he teased, "Oh? I hope you aren't feeling left out, Mr. Spock?"

Jim looked over at him, anticipating the droll stare he would surely be met with, but, instead, he found himself startled by how close the two of them seemed to have gotten. It was natural, of course – Jim had already been resting on the armrest nearest Spock, his elbow propped on it with his chin in his hand, when Spock had leaned into his space. So, in retrospect, it shouldn't have surprised him.

And, besides, surprise or not, their gravitating into each other's personal bubbles wouldn't exactly qualify as an exceptional occurrence. In fact, Spock's proximity and acceptance of Jim's tactility had been established as both welcome and a comfort for Jim for a while now.

So the tremor of anxiety that went through him when he realized how close to Spock he was, was completely blindsiding. Jim reacted without thought, swiftly pulling away, his skin crawling and his heart stuttering before beginning to beat faster.

The moment passed in a blank wash of fear, but as it went by and Jim found himself remaining untouched – _safe_ – that fear quickly slipped away and his surroundings came back into focus, his attention no longer zeroed in on the threat of the space between himself and Spock – such a fragile barrier – being thoughtlessly, heedlessly, _brutally_ traversed. It was a reassurance that allowed him to relax, his body untensing and going lax against the arm of his chair.

Until, that is, Jim realized what he'd done.

Jim's eyes flickered up to Spock's – a stupid, _stupid_ , incriminating thing to do – on nothing more than the desperate need to check if – if Spock had _noticed_ . As if he could have possibly have _not_ noticed Jim pulling away from him like he'd been burned by Spock's very proximity.

Spock for his part had not moved an inch throughout Jim's whole... _episode_ , though he was watching Jim closely, and, if Jim wasn't mistaken, his eyes had narrowed slightly.

Jim forced himself to hold Spock's gaze, refusing to further incriminate himself.

He settled back against his other armrest, trying to pass the debacle off as him simply readjusting for comfort. The likelihood of it working was negligible, but he also knew that Spock wouldn't bring it up now, in front of Scotty and their guests. Not when Jim was very clearly indicating that to him it wasn't an emergency and was best ignored for the moment.

Sure enough, after another second or two of just _staring_ at him, Spock also pulled back, resettling himself rather stiffly in his chair, his posture downright commendable, and proceeded with their previous conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

"Hardly, Captain," he said, his voice, though still quite low, loud enough now to have piqued yeoman Moore's attention, their head rising from where it'd been buried in a pad. "I simply think it would be beneficial to all parties to remind Commander Scott and Commander Soto of the hour before they extend our conference well into the night."

Jim smiled, shaking his head fondly – gratefully latching onto the normalcy of Spock's rather put-upon brand of humor as an aid to putting his episode behind him.

There was a laugh buried in his chest, meant to go along with that smile, but he had a feeling that it wouldn't come out quite right – likely half-hearted at best and perhaps a bit shaky as the last of the adrenaline from his spike of fear faded from his system. So, in the interest of not concerning Spock further, Jim let it sit there, unrealized, suffocating and too easily dispelled.

"I suppose you have a point," Jim said after a moment. He turned towards Commander Soto and Scotty.

In the interim, their discussion seemed to have moved on from the _Enterprise_ to the latest theories being tossed around in academic circles. Jim, himself, was hardly as well-versed in topic as Scotty, but he knew enough to be able to pick up on the terminology popping up, at least.

It wasn't often that Scotty socialized – if a debate on the feasibility of achieving warp drive through means other than dilithium crystals could truly be considered socialization – so Jim found himself almost hating to bring a stop to the conversation. Spock was right, though, they couldn't stay here all evening, as enjoyable as that could prove to be. Jim had admin to attend to, following what was looking to be a late dinner, and poor yeoman Moore had gone back to flicking through their pad, their eyes practically glazed over with boredom.

Bearing that in mind, Jim clapped his hands together, drawing all eyes to himself. "Commander," he said, smiling at her apologetically, "I'm afraid we've held you past time."

Commander Soto blinked at him, blankly, then her eyebrows furrowed. "What? Really?" she asked, half-turning towards her yeoman.

Moore straightened in their chair, nodding in conformation. "Yes, Commander. We're roughly 20 minutes past when we'd planned to head out."

" _Really_!" Commander Soto repeated, rhetorically this time. She turned back to Jim, her own expression having turned apologetic. "I'm sorry, Captain, I didn't realize."

"No-" Jim began, already raising a hand to brush her concern aside.

He was rather abruptly cut off, however, by Scotty's exclamation of, "Not at all, Commander!"

Jim shot Scotty a _look_ , downright astounded and a bit belatedly remembering to close his mouth, but Scotty only had eyes for Commander Soto. There was a subtle cough beside Jim that he was certain was Spock laughing at him.

Scotty, blissfully unaware, plowed right on ahead, having captured Commander Soto's attention, her lips ticked up in amusement – much, Jim noted as he shot a side-eye at Spock, the same as his dear First Officer, "It's been a delight – a real _delight_ having you. Honestly. Why, if the last Starbase engineer we'd had on my- er– _this_ ship had been half as brilliant as you... Well, let's just say I wouldn't have been half so worried these past few days, that's for sure."

Commander Soto glanced at Jim, her lips pressed together, fighting back a smile, then she nodded at Scotty with a, "Thank you," her tone buoyant with barely suppressed laughter. "I look forward to working with you." She stood, holding out a hand, Scotty standing with her and giving her hand a firm shake.

She then turned to Jim. "Walk me back to the airlock, Captain?"

"I'd love to," Jim replied.

He got up and took a step away from the table, adjusting his shirt and tactfully avoiding the, once more, roused curiosities Scotty and Spock. Scotty was eyeing Jim and Soto as openly as he had the first time, but Spock, unlike his previous feigned disinterest, now only had eyes for Jim. It made him uneasy, but he did his best to ignore it as Commander Soto made her way over to him, her yeoman close behind, and gestured for him to lead the way.

“Perhaps I should accompany you, Captain?” Spock, his voice even and his gaze still locked on Jim.

And Jim _knew_.

He _knew_ it was because he’d flinched away from him.

It was _obvious_ that it was because he’d flinched away from him. Spock knew that something was off and had clearly come to the conclusion that Jim may not actually want to walk Soto to the airlock. Or maybe he thought that Jim might not want to be alone with her in any capacity.

He was offering Jim an out, just trying to help. That’s all it was.

Jim knew that just as well as he knew why Spock was speaking up in the first place, but it didn’t stop him from feeling frustrated.

He didn’t want to be handled or tip-toed around, no matter how delicately or subtly the handling and tip-toeing was done. Especially not for something as ridiculous as a sudden onset of sporadic fear of being touched. This was precisely why he hadn’t spoken to Bones about the whole situation yet.

Taking a deep breath, Jim folded his hands behind his back and made an effort to address Spock politely and professionally, letting none of his aggravation slip through. “I appreciate the offer Spock, but I’ve got it covered.”

Spock was still _staring_ at him. “You’re certain?”

Jim gave a tight-lipped smile. “Positive.”

A slightly too long pause and then there was a nod of assent from Spock and Jim was turning on his heel, sparing a much more pleasant smile for Soto and Moore - the former glancing between Jim and Spock curiously while the latter simply looked bored - as he led them to the door.

The walk to the airlock was short and silent, though Jim could feel Commander Soto's eyes on him the whole way and found himself catching her gaze a few times. When they reached the doors she requested a word with Jim alone, telling her yeoman to head on without her.

Moore raised an eyebrow, but agreed easily enough with little more than a, "Right… I suppose I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Bright and early," Commander Soto replied, giving them a slight wave of her fingers as the airlock doors hissed open. Moore walked through them, the doors quickly sliding shut.

And with that, Jim and the lovely Commander Soto were alone.

“Hi, Jim,” she said, watching him closely.

“Mia,” he replied, meeting her scrutiny with an openness that seemed to respark the initial delight she’d shown upon first laying eyes on him.

Her face broke into a wide grin. “Let me to take you to dinner?” she asked, holding out a hand, expectantly.

Jim let out a short, pleased laugh, the last bit of professionalism crumbling away as he grasped her hand, tugging her in and linking their arms together. “Going to save me from the food replicators?”

“Oh, absolutely. You’re going to leave this evening wondering how you ever survived on the stuff.”

Jim pressed a hand to the pad beside the airlock doors, opening them, and the two of them stepped through, repeating the process on the second set of doors that released them into the Starbase’s docking bay, a large utilitarian chamber, rounded and metal.

Despite the late hour, there were a fair number of people heading to and from different ships. Mia set a quick clip, heading towards the glass elevator in the center of the room.

She threw out a few options for where they could eat as they walked, boarding the elevator with a couple of other people, and when their destination was settled the conversation turned to other things. They were released onto the Starbase’s main plaza talking about work - sharing anecdotes and otherwise interesting stories.

The plaza was bustling with people and a cacophony of noise. The walls were the same silver metal as the docking bay, but large swaths of them were taken up by windows, providing enough of a view of the vastness of space to give the faint of heart vertigo. Most of the businesses skirting the walls were set up like an open market, only a couple of them being properly enclosed, and the center of the area was occupied with glittering glass statues.

Mia headed right for one of the enclosed restaurants and before long, the two of them were seated, served, and both at least one drink in.

When the waiter had left them with their second round of drinks, Mia leaned in conspiratorially across their small table, her chin resting on one of her hands, saying, “As interesting as hearing about your missions has been, how about some personal gossip? Ever since I realized it was _your_ ship I was going to be working on, I've been dying to know what you’ve been up to.”

Jim smiled, taking a sip of his drink. “You missed me?” he asked, playfully.

Mia narrowed her eyes in faux-affront. “Oh, don’t be coy!”

Jim laughed, settling back in his chair and relenting in his teasing easily enough with a, “Right, right, of course. Well… I missed you, at least.” It was true - or true enough, anyway.

Jim hadn’t really thought about Mia much over the course of the 10 or so years since they’d separated - except, perhaps, in passing. He was a bit too grounded in the present and future-focused for that sort of reminiscing.

During the month or two immediately following her departure for her first assignment, though… Oh, he’d missed her _terribly_. They’d tried to keep up with each other for a bit, but transmissions could be fickle - taking weeks to arrive or failing to arrive at all - and, as Jim would continue to learn over the coming years, it was all too easy to lose touch with someone out of your immediate reach, no matter how strong your connection, when both of you were laser-focused on your own goals.

So, no, Jim hadn’t thought about Mia Soto over the years, and his time of really and truly aching for her company had passed, but… Deep down in that chamber of his heart dedicated to lost connections, he’d missed her just the same, her own loss joining up with others as a faint, underlying thrum, always present, but only ever making itself known during strange moments when Jim would find himself alone and so very, _very_ lonely.

So, it’d been a connection lost, but not entirely forgotten. And seeing Mia again had clicked it right back into place, his feelings for her just as fond as ever.

He missed her as she sat before him; he cared for her more with every word she spoke; and he could love her again if he really wanted to, just as easily as he’d _lose_ her again when the _Enterprise_ left and she stayed stationed here, at the Starbase.

Mia’s eyes softened, a smile pulling at her lips. And Jim watched her, drinking her in, appreciating the moment in all its ephemeral glory.

“It really is nice to see you again,” he continued, voice soft, absentmindedly starting to toy with the straw that’d been stuck in his drink. “I was surprised, though, you know. It didn’t even occur to me that the Commander Soto working on my ship would be _Mia_ Soto, of all people, until I saw you.”

Mia gave a half-shrug. “Small galaxy, I suppose.” There was a beat of silence, then, “I _have_ missed you, too, for the record. Hard not to. I was actually even thinking of you just the other day.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Mia hummed. “One of my friends got engaged. And I know that never would have been _us_ , but…” She smiled faintly. “Well, it just made me think of you. And then the very next week I hear that I’m scheduled to do maintenance on the _Enterprise_ , captained by one James T. Kirk. It’s funny how things work out sometimes.”

“Almost like fate.” The words were spoken with the tender quality of intimacy, but all their meaning was hinged on that ‘almost.’

Mia nodded, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, echoing Jim in agreement with a thoughtful, “Almost,” of her own. “Were you seeing anyone now, though? There’s someone I’ve had my eye on, lately. They work in comms; very sweet, very handsome.”

“Very lucky to have caught your eye.” Jim smiled, but it was quick to fade as he thought about his own romantic troubles. “In my case, there’s been a few people who’ve made an impression, but… Well, it’s not like my job makes things easy and I…” He pressed his lips together, shaking his head, a few distinct women coming to mind. “I swear, when it’s not something as simple as work getting in the way it’s-it’s always something much worse.” He sighed. “So, no, there’s no one I’ve been seeing.”

“I’m sorry,” Mia said, her eyebrows furrowed just the slightest bit and her eyes, locked on his, turning his insides malleable with their open concern and sympathy.

Jim shifted a bit, uncomfortable, and Mia’s gaze flickered away from him, landing on the table. She seemed to go thoughtful after a few moments and when she looked up again, it was with a faint curiosity.

“You know,” she began, slowly, as if she wasn’t sure she should actually be saying what she was about to say, “I’d actually wondered if there might be something between you and that First Officer of yours.”

And Jim… blue-screened. “Spock?” he asked, blankly. “Me and _Spock_?”

Mia nodded. “Obviously there must not be.” It was probably supposed to be a statement, at least Jim _thought_ it was, but Mia spoke it with enough uncertainty that the implied request for confirmation was clear. “But I _had_ wondered. You two were so… close. And he didn’t seem to want you to leave with me. I guess I just figured that even if it wasn’t anything _official_ , there must be feelings there.”

“I- Uh, no, no feelings there.” Jim laughed, shaking his head. “Honestly, I feel accomplished enough having gained his friendship, so I… I suppose I’ve never really thought of him that way. Well,” he conceded after a moment, “not _seriously_. Besides, I’m not a fan of romantic entanglements with subordinates. The ethics are a bit too hazy for my tastes.” Jim took a drink, freezing briefly as he remembered Dr. Noel - an exception to his rule, sparking a mix of embarrassment and shame as he forced himself to swallow and set his cup back down, until…

Until he remembered - a reflex by this point, any time he thought of her - that his memories of her had _never really happened_.

Jim could hear Mia across from him, posing the question of whether a First Officer truly counted as a subordinate, but he found he couldn’t focus on her, his lips pressed tightly together as he stared at his drink, nails of one hand digging into the flesh of the other beneath the table.

He felt staticky and ill.

“I think,” Jim began, probably cutting Mia off, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry about that, “I should be heading back to my ship. There were some things I needed to get around to and it’s probably well past time for people to be looking for me to sign some document or other.”

“Oh!” Mia said, Jim glancing up at her. She blinked, seeming a bit take-aback by the suddenness of his statement, but adapted swiftly enough, waving down their waiter. “Right, of course. Did you want me to walk you back, or…”

“No, thank you. I can manage.”

They split the bill and Mia did end up walking with him for a bit, just as far as the elevator.

“I had a lovely time,” Mia said as they waited for the doors to open. Jim hummed, a non-committal sort of agreement, and then found Mia sweeping in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Jim went stiff, feeling the press of her lips like the phantom touch of Dr. Noel’s consuming his mouth, a slick, dirty feeling crawling down his throat to disturb his stomach.

The phantom of a false memory.

The ghost of a ghost, but a weight on and under his skin just the same.

And when Mia pulled away and those elevator doors swished open, Jim - though he was certain his hands must be trembling and he felt like his throat was closing up - made sure to meet her, “Good night, Jim,” with nothing less than his most charming smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record I’m a firm believer in McCoy and Spock being in love with Kirk and Kirk being totally oblivious about it. And also that Kirk would be very open to pursuing something with them if they’d make their interest clear.
> 
> Dagger of the Mind summary: In short, Kirk is investigating a prison, slips out of the room he’s been left in without the man that’d been showing him around, and asks the psychologist (a woman named Dr. Helen Noel) who came down with him to test out a Very Suspicious machine on him. It works and essentially is able to rewrite memories and implant thoughts into people’s heads. Kirk tells her to implant something ridiculous and she, uhhh.... To be totally blunt, she *leaps* at the chance to rewrite the night they met into ending with them sleeping with each other (this, following her flirting with Kirk a few times and him consistently shutting her down). Then the man in charge comes in and makes everything even worse by adding to the fantasy Dr. Noel had started.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get slightly worse and a stopgap measure is pursued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s pacing might be a crime against writing. Or maybe it’s fine and I’m just being too harsh. I don’t know. I also don’t know how tos turbolifts are supposed to work, so, like… don’t tell me if I got it wrong, actually.  
> TW: Non-explicit, brief description of a sexual assault nightmare. I don’t think it’s any worse than my previous descriptions of sexual assault that Jim has suffered and is probably, honestly, even less intense.

Jim was in the shower. The water was hot, a soothing drumming down his back, his eyes - aching from another night without enough sleep - closed against the streams of water that found their way to his face, cascading to the shower floor from where they terminated at the tips of his nose and chin.

When he’d returned to the ship the night before, he’d been lucky enough to be spared both Spock’s and Bones’s company, both of them equally as sharp and inquisitive in their own ways - Spock, quietly unassuming, but persistent; Bones, openly brash and demanding; and both of them undeniably too much for Jim’s frayed nerves at the time.

He’d gone to his room, slipping down dim hallways, mostly empty due to the hour - it being well into the evening and only getting later. He arrived without incident, his door sliding shut behind him.

And then, he’d just stood there. The soft sound of the door thunking shut behind him had swelled through the room, filling it up, pressing in on his body and every far-reaching corner. And he’d stood there, hovering in the entryway. Breathing. His eyes roaming ahead of him, but not really seeing.

He’d wrapped his arms about his waist, feeling his belly expand and contract with his breaths.

And he’d _stood_ there and _breathed_ until he was nothing _but_ the air flowing into and out of his lungs and the pressure of his arms across his ribs. Until the process was rote, mechanical, an unbreakable chain of in-hold-out-hold-in-hold-out... and the thought of breaking that chain was distant and painful. So painful, it felt nearly impossible to stop.

_That_ was when he’d forced his eyes open and brought the deep, soothing breaths to an abrupt halt. He'd jolted himself into motion, practically dragging himself over to his COMM, every movement zinging through his limbs in the echo of a debilitating ache. He’d ignored it, pushing right on through it all to contact the bridge and then Yeoman Rand to see if anything was needed of him, each action becoming easier than the one preceding it as he fell back into the familiar rhythm of _doing_.

There'd been nothing pressing on the bridge, Sulu having assured him that all was perfectly mundane, just as one would expect from a ship docked on a Starbase. There were, however, documents from Yeoman Rand - a faint smile had quirked up the corners of Jim's lips at that, the confirmation that he’d been right when he’d told Mia that it was well past time for him to have been signing documents, always _something_ in need of review and a signature on a Starship.

He’d chuckled to himself a bit as he’d gone to his desk, though the laughter had dissolved into a distant memory by the time he’d dropped into his seat, his eyes on his door and his fingers drumming on his desk as he prepared himself for Yeoman Rand’s arrival.

He'd tried to assure her that whatever documents she’d accumulated while he’d been detained by Mia for business, and then for dinner, could wait until morning, but she’d been adamant. Something about ‘the principle of the thing’ and ‘waking up to a clear desk’ and, most especially, her delivery on this final matter being both pointed and brusque, how the hour hardly mattered because she was ‘well used to Jim’s, at times, rather unusual hours’. Jim had found himself forced to concede.

Yeoman Rand had arrived a few minutes later, breezing into Jim’s room after he’d allowed her entrance with a decent sized stack of pads cradled in her arms. Despite the late hour, she’d still been in uniform, though she’d taken her hair down, blonde waves laying thickly about her shoulders, and pushed a bit unsuccessfully behind her ears.

Jim had stood, greeting her with a polite thanks for her having stopped by and gestured towards his desk where she’d deposited the pads. She’d then wished him a good night, but, upon getting her first good look at him since she’d come in, she’d paused for a moment. Her hands had settled on her hips and next thing Jim knew he was being subject to her insistence that he not stay up too late, “Because I can promise you, Captain, your health is more important than those reports.”

Jim had assured her that he was perfectly capable of getting himself to bed at a reasonable hour, trying not to feel irritated at her concern, and proceeded to attempt to subtly corral her back towards his door. She hadn’t resisted his efforts to lead her, but she’d gone on for a bit about the importance of a full night’s rest, anyway, hovering in his entryway. Though never outright stated, the fact that he didn’t look well had come across loud and clear.

By the time she’d finally left, Jim had no longer been simply worn out from an early morning and a rough evening. He’d also been well and thoroughly annoyed and embarrassed. With a sigh and a bit of muttering to himself about the detriments of a yeoman possibly a bit _too_ invested in his well-being, Jim had returned to his desk, flicking through the pads in front of him for either the most interesting looking or pressing report first, and settled in for a few hours of work.

When he went to sleep it’d been pushing the early hours of the morning, but still perfectly within reason to get a good six hours… if only he hadn’t been woken by a nightmare _again_.

His memory of the dream was clearer this time than it’d been the previous nights.

It was hands and lips and a body bearing down on him. No one he recognized, nothing that had ever really happened, just a figment of his unconscious mind. But, despite that, in its aftermath, he’d felt a buzzing in his head just the same.

He’d climbed out of bed, a fist to his mouth, digging his teeth into his knuckle, and walked slowly towards the bathroom, his shoulders hunched in on himself. The usually perfectly pleasant temperature of his room had been cool on his overheated skin and he’d found he didn’t have it in him to tell the computer to turn up the lights, making due with the faint pulsing glow that ensured no room was ever left in total darkness.

And now, he was in the shower, in the dark, rooted in place by a sickness that had sunk its weight all the way down to the soles of his feet, the knowledge that the water was going to shut itself off soon tugging at the back of his mind, trying to get him to move.

_Move_.

_MOVE_!

He moved, a sigh, a shifting of his head, not much, but enough to propel him back into motion, managing to wash his body and condition his hair before the water shut off.

He had the lights turned up, got dressed, and, though it was only around 4am, decided he could use a change of scenery. He grabbed his personal pad, making a reminder to himself to stop back at his room for the documents he needed to get back to Yeoman Rand, and slipped out for a walk, thinking he’d head for the conservatory and sit on one of the benches there until the start of his shift.

The hallways were relatively empty, the night shift being less heavily staffed than the morning and evening shifts were, though, there was still a decent scattering of people going about their work. A few curious faces out and about to watch Jim as he strode past them, an tiny anomaly in the as yet undisturbed rhythm of their day.

The conservatory, on the other hand, appeared to be _completely_ empty. The lighting was dimmed to imitate night, as it had been in the hallways and was supposed to be everywhere but the areas of the ship expected to be in use. The solar lamps were on their lowest setting and an intermingling of dark purple lights were casting hazy glows along the walls and alighting on the leaves and petals of the plants.

Jim walked along the path that traversed the room, hands folded behind his back, dirt crunching under his boots, eyes catching on the plants that had come into bloom with the simulated night. The air smelled earthy and floral and the only sound, other than the ones he was making, was the buzzing of the insects that were fastidiously, though never completely, prevented from escaping the conservatory. He circled the room once, twice, and finally sat down heavily on one of the metal benches, giving himself a good view of a section of tall, dropping white flowers with bright orange stems and long, curling leaves.

Exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him again, but he tamped it down, grabbing his personal pad and scrolling aimlessly through the news updates Starfleet ensured its captains received and which Jim often found himself needing to catch up on.

The lights around him gradually brightened, the solar lamps turning up in intensity and the colored lights sluggishly shifting through the shades of an Earthen sunrise until the alert Jim had left himself dinged, startling him out of the torpur he’d fallen into, the words on his screen having lost all meaning at some point. He jolted, slightly, fumbling with his pad but not dropping it, and dismissed the notification, standing and stretching until his back popped, a groan flying out of his mouth with it. He then pocketed his pad, turning to head out and start his day, rubbing at his eyes-

And very nearly bulldozed right over an Ensign, dressed in a blue shirt that’d been tucked into her uniform pants, who apparently had been just as distracted by her pad as Jim had been with clearing the tiredness from his eyes.

He stumbled to a stop, his hands instinctively shooting out to steady the woman as she reared back, with a startled, “Captain!”

He smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease as he retracted his hands from where they were hovering about her shoulders, and nodded in acknowledgement. “Good morning, Ensign. Getting an early start?”

“Oh, I-...” She furrowed her eyebrows, her confusion about what on earth Jim was doing in the conservatory before even _she_ had arrived was evident. “Well, I don’t know about _early_ , sir. At least, not for me. I’m afraid a few of these plants have a slightly different definition of when morning shift should begin than the ship’s schedule.” She smiled, faint amusement to the tilt of her mouth, as if to say ‘Needy plants, am I right?,’ but the smile slipped away as quickly as it had arrived and she cleared her throat. “Ah, but, I’m sorry- Did you need something, Captain?”

“No, no.” Jim rocked back on his heels, giving the conservatory an appreciative glance. “Just admiring the view.” Another pleasant smile for the skittish Ensign, but when Jim’s gaze trailed back to her, he realized that it seemed to be completely unnecessary.

A gleam of genuine delight had taken hold of her, sparkling in her eyes and radiating from her wide smile. “It _is_ quite beautiful bright and early like this, isn’t it,” she said, her words full to bursting with an eager understanding. “When the flowers are just opening up and no one else is around to disturb the peace. As tired as I always am, this is definitely my favorite part of the day. I hope it gets you off to just as nice a start.”

Jim nodded. “Thank you. I’m sure it will.”

He took a step back, a gentle indication that he really should be on his way, and she quickly stepped aside allowing him to pass and returning her attention to her pad and whatever she’d been heading off to do before Jim had almost run into her.

He exited the conservatory and stopped at his room for those pads Yeoman Rand would need to redistribute, figuring he could make the trip to her office and still have time to get himself a quick breakfast before he was supposed to report to the bridge.

An easy exchange, however, was not in the cards. Yeoman Rand took one look at Jim and her, “Good morning,” swiftly transformed itself into an admonishing, “ _Captain_. Haven’t you ever heard of beauty sleep?” She shoved herself up from her desk while Jim, startled into laughter, stood there with the pads held out, unable to reply. She took them from him, depositing them on her desk, and examined him closely, her hands on her hips. “You really don’t look well, you know.”

“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” Jim insisted, his incredulity still terminating in amusement.

Yeoman Rand raised her eyebrows. “Sir, those shadows under your eyes are almost frightening.”

She delivered the assessment with such earnestness that Jim had no choice but to believe her. A bit self-conscious, now, he gently prodded at the delicate, slightly achey, skin beneath his eyes. “I see… I suppose I’ll be catching up on lost sleep tonight.”

Yeoman Rand hummed, stepping away from Jim, with a, “Wait just a moment, Captain, I’ll-,” a brief glance in Jim’s direction, and a huff of an exhale, “-I’ll see what I can do.”

‘What she could do’ turned out to be replicating a few concealers and, with Jim’s permission, given freely though that fact didn’t help how his insides squirmed when she grabbed his chin and put her face close enough to his that he could feel her breath on his skin, she determined the best fit for him and then dabbed a bit of it under his eyes. Satisfied with her efforts, she gave him a smile and a, “Good as new!”

“Thank you, Yeoman.”

“No problem at all. But, there _is_ just one more thing.” She went back to her replicator, while Jim waited, stifling a yawn. When she returned it was with a steaming cup of coffee, a welcome gift, which Jim immediately took a sip from, and a bowl of…

Jim frowned.

A bowl of what appeared to be plain oatmeal. He took it from her much more slowly than he had the cup of coffee. “Ah… I suppose this breakfast would be…”

“According to Dr. McCoy’s food plan?”

Jim gave a terse nod.

“Yes, sir.” She smiled.

Jim… managed somewhat of a grimace back, making a note to self to badger Bones about his having reinstated that torturous food plan later. “I see, well, thank you again, Yeoman. I… appreciate it.”

“Of course, it’s no trouble.”

Jim nodded again and left, taking his coffee and miserably bland breakfast with him.

He made it about halfway to his lunch break, not even halfway through his _shift_ , before realizing that he was going to have to give in and ask Bones for sleeping pills. Even with a second cup of coffee in his system he was practically dozing in his chair and there was an undeniable sense of _fear_ tingling along his nerves at the thought of going to sleep again tonight the longer he sat here with nothing much to do _other_ than think about it.

Jim needed a sleep aid and he needed it strong enough to leave him _dreamless_. He figured he’d tell Bones he was suffering from a bout of insomnia. There was nothing outright suspicious or concerning about the occasional bout of insomnia. And if the nightmares came back when the pills were gone… Well, that was a problem for the future.

As it was, it was bad enough that Spock was watching Jim this morning, an obvious result of Jim having flinched away from him yesterday. The last thing Jim wanted was for a confession of disturbing nightmares to start Bones hovering over him, too.

Subtle as Spock may have thought he was being over there at his science station, his increased attentions were only _too_ obvious to Jim who, as the subject of his glances, could _feel_ it each time Spock’s gaze landed on him. It was making Jim even twitchier than the caffeine and lack of sleep combined as he wondered what sorts of questions Spock was seeking to answer and whether Jim, himself, was unintentionally revealing _exactly_ what was bothering him with every single occurance of Spock’s eyes skimming over his body.

The thought that it all might just be _there_ . _On him_ . The dreams and the fear and the sickness. All of it readable to anyone who simply bothered to look _closely_ enough-

That wasn’t what Jim wanted. It wasn’t what he wanted at all.

So, he’d get his sleeping pills and he’d assure Spock that everything was fine and everything _would_ be fine because the nightmares would stop and the anxiety would stop and the sickness living in his stomach and under his skin and coiling itself tightly around his body as if it would not be satisfied until everyone _saw_ and _knew_ -

Would stop.

He just needed to get through this shift and a debriefing with Commander Soto about her team’s progress on the _Enterprise’s_ maintenance and updates.

And then it could _all start to stop_.

So, Jim pushed through to lunch, pointedly ignoring the way Spock never stopped watching him, and, while getting himself something to eat at the replicators with Bones, he made sure to make a casual mention of the “insomnia” keeping him up at night in addition to his grumbling about the meal plan. To his relief, Bones didn’t seem to read anything into it, instead just insisting that Jim should stop by the sickbay later so he could give him something for the insomnia, the same way he always did for any of the occasional, minor discomforts Jim complained to him about.

Jim had to suppress a smile as he became awash with the faint the thrill of getting away with something.

In keeping with the typical flow of this sort of conversation, Jim played up a bit of exasperation and resistance to Bones’s suggestion, knowing full well that a rebuttal was bound to come. It was then that he sighed out an, “Alright, alright!,” ensuring that his agreement felt much more like he was accommodating _Bones_ in the matter, than getting exactly what he’d wanted in the first place.

That having gone almost too well, it ended up being the turbolift back to the bridge, rather than his indirect request, that became uncomfortable. Jim had stepped aside, allowing Spock in first and letting him make the floor request, so Spock was the one currently tethered to the turbolift handle. Freedom of movement, however, was apparently little consolation when Spock was _still_ , ever so persistently, staring at Jim.

They made it maybe five seconds in silence before Jim, unable to take it any longer and feeling properly fed up, met Spock’s eyes in challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“Was there something I could help you with, Mr. Spock?” Jim asked, crossing against his arms.

Spock seemed to ponder that for a moment, easing up on the pressure he’d been putting on the turbolift handle and slowing their ascent. “I believe, Captain, that the better question is: Is there anything _I_ can do for _you_?”

Jim scoffed. “You can stop staring at me like I’ve- I’ve grown horns or a second head or something. _That’s_ what you can do for me.”

“I can assure you, Captain, if you’d spontaneously grown ‘horns’ or ‘a second head,’ I would _not_ simply be staring.”

Jim rolled his eyes, “Please, Spock, don’t act like you don’t know what I meant. I’m not in the mood.”

Spock inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Well I certainly _could_ stop my observations, I don’t believe that _that_ would resolve the root of whatever seems to be troubling you. At first, I had assumed it must be related to Commander Soto, but-” Spock froze, then frowned, then, right before Jim’s rather confused eyes, his entire expression shifted to fix Jim with a look of such concern that Jim was helpless to the riot of fluttering in his stomach. “Unless, your problem is with _me_ , Captain?”

Jim blinked. “What?”

Spock pressed firmly back down on the turbolift’s handle, sending them back up to normal speed. “If I’ve done anything to discomfort or… frighten you, I apologize.”

“I…” This had very quickly spiraled into a direction that Jim had not meant for it to go. “Now, Mr. Spock, while I won’t say that all of the excess staring isn’t a bit, ah, _uncomfortable_ , you’ve done nothing to warrant this apology.”

“And yet you cringed from me yesterday as if my mere proximity were enough to cause you distress. Captain, if the problem has not arrived with Commander Soto and has not arisen from myself, I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to where your reaction could have come from and my concern still stands.”

“Spock.” Jim approached him, thinking of nothing but offering him comfort as he placed a hand on Spock’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “I can promise you that what happened had nothing to do with you. And nothing to do with Commander Soto, either, for that matter.”

Spock nodded. “I had gathered as much from your willingness to spend the evening with her.” There was a brief moment of pause, but before either of them could say anything else, the turbolift came to a halt and a moment later the doors swished open. The sounds coming from the bridge were sluggish and there was no one standing immediately outside the door.

Jim pressed his lips together, taking a small step back from Spock and letting his hand slide from his shoulder, his fingers grazing along Spock’s bicep. Before the contact was lost, however, Spock grabbed him, very loosely holding his wrist. It was a barely there pressure, Spock’s fingers cool against his skin, the pads of his fingers just barely dragging along the underside of Jim’s wrist.

The touch was distracting and a bit startling, but not unpleasant.

“May we continue this conversation later, Captain?” Spock asked. His voice was low and had softened in an effort to maintain privacy.

Jim nodded and, in the face of another, sudden onset of fluttering in his stomach, gently extracted his hand from Spock’s hold, saying a slightly harried, “Yes. Later. Of course. How does tomorrow evening sound?”

“Perfect. Thank you, Captain.” And with that, Spock slipped seamlessly back into being a paragon of professionalism, donning that Vulcan detachment he always spoke oh so highly of, his posture straightening, his arms folding behind his back, all of his earlier concern getting swept from his face.

Jim shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips, amusement fighting against a thorough state of confusion since he really wasn't quite sure what to think of all that, and he exited the turbolift.

  
He remained hyperaware of Spock at his station for the rest of his shift, but this time it was _not_ because of any incessant staring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m torn between feeling worried that Kirk is ooc because he’s being so evasive about the fact that something is seriously wrong even with McCoy and Spock. But also feeling justified in writing him this way because talking about trauma is hard enough, so how could Kirk possibly be ready to talk about it before he’s even really begun to *process* it….. I don’t know…. I just hope my depiction of Kirk still *feels* like him, is all.


End file.
